


Every Night

by AnnaofAza



Series: the sleep series [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel did hear those prayers, M/M, POV Castiel, Purgatory, Safe for Booky, Season Eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2001171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel hears about The Human. The only human who’s alive in Purgatory, and Castiel shouldn’t be surprised. He expects nothing less from Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Night

Castiel hears about _The Human._ The only human who’s alive in Purgatory, and Castiel shouldn’t be surprised. He expects nothing less from Dean Winchester.

He knows the stories of the Righteous Man, of Alastair’s Master Student, of Dean Winchester. He’s seen images flicker of the brightest soul in Hell, covered in gore and blood, in his brothers’ and sisters’ minds in Heaven, tinged with disgust and awe. He’s overheard, with Uriel at his side, the hisses of demons with rumors of a man who can flay them seven hundred different ways with a knife. He’s watched monsters flinch and even flee at the sound of the Winchester name. He remembers a time where he knew Dean Winchester as just as a compostion of countless stories.

He hardly imagine that now, with Dean, with a glare so fierce that he can challenge angels without blinking, but with such a rare but unmistakably fond smile that could be as gentle and warming as an afternoon sun. _I'd rather have you, cursed or not._

Another monster is crushed beneath his fingers, and Castiel keeps watch by himself, eyes always wary. He keeps thinking of _you’re the angel._

He knows that he’s the main target, a shining beacon for every monster. That’s why he ran the another way, not towards Dean, but _away_. Dean nearly fell victim to two rows of jagged teeth, sharp and curving as well as any knife, and it took almost all Castiel had to pull it off and kick in its head. The red eyes flickered out, still fierce even when empty. But Castiel had heard paws scratching at the earth, thundering towards them both, and had acted. He had pointed to the edge of the woods— _Dean, run—_ and his last glimpse of Dean was him running, running to safety, as the Gorilla-Wolves lunged at directly at his own throat.

Castiel watches shadows wind around the empty trees and recalls the look of shock and surprise. _You’re the angel The Human wants to find._

At night—it seems always dark in Purgatory, but it’s darker at certain times—Castiel hears them, a routine as regular as brushing teeth, _Cas, Cas, can you hear me?_

They vary, but they always carry the same message: _come back._

 _You son of a bitch, where the hell are you?_ Castiel hears while sharpening a broken-off branch. He can still smite monsters, but only if he pours in most of his concentration. His head feels as if it’s less scattered here, but Castiel still has to fight through the fog that chokes and claws at his thoughts. His strategies of alternate routes are immersed with wandering questions about bees and Dean handing him back his coat. Sometimes he remembers drowning, just after the Leviathans left his body, of water clogged in his nose and sealing off the air and tightening until he let go. Castiel can barely look at the rivers and streams that serve as landmarks without the faintest feeling of fear.

 _Cas, damn it, can you hear me? Where did you fucking go?_ Dean snaps. Castiel has just disposed, with some difficulty, of another creature, something between a wendigo and what Dean had named a Jefferson Starship. It had greedily roamed its eyes up and down Castiel’s body: _The angel, huh? He’s tearing up Purgatory looking for you._ And Castiel sees the truth of it in its messy thoughts, of a trail of bodies smeared with blood, of Dean pushing one of its brethen up against a tree, of a snarled, _where’s the angel?_

 _I’m near the river, west from the cliffs that look like Leviathan fangs,_ Dean reports when Castiel succumbs to exhaustion near a tiny cave nestled by a grove of naked trees. Purgatory is draining, sucking out all of his physical energy and mockingly trading it for increased mental energy. He’s sluggish and slow in a way that no angel is, but he has more time to think about his state, how useless he is, how he’s better off in here. Castiel closes his eyes as Dean’s voice adds, _I change places every hour, but if you hear me, come find me._

 _Come back._ Dean’s voice is rough and raw, and he sounds as if he’s in pain. He’s breathing heavily, thoughts interweaving as he prays. There’s a monster, with a tail like a scorpion’s and legs built like a tiger’s, that dashed Dean’s head with a punishing blow. Dean had fled to safety, holding his jacket against the wound, and had collapsed somewhere not ten miles from from Castiel is. _Why did you leave? Cas, please…_

 _Damn it, that was a close call. I’m lucky I had that battle axe thing. You should see it, Cas, it’s from a bone—how badass is that?_ Castiel can smile when Dean’s voice rambles on in eagerness. He’s recalling the brief battle with heat running through his veins and tingling up in his throat. He’s Dean alive, Dean back on Earth, Dean fierce and wondrous in so many ways. Purgatory is made with dull colors, bright hues sucked away, but Castiel holds onto the memory of bright green eyes, like spring anew. Castiel sinks his shoulders forward when Dean’s tone switches from triumph to seriousness. _Come on, Cas, I’m in the thickest part of the woods. Come ‘ere and help me find a way out._ _We work better as a team._

 _Today I met a vampire._ Castiel jolts from another wave of exhaustion, and panics— _he’s okay, he’s talking, he’s alive—_ before Dean continues: _Been trying to find you. He thinks he knows a way out of here. Do you copy? We can get out of here._

As far as Castiel knows, there is no way out of Purgatory, and he listens for more information, but Dean’s silent. He drops his location and talks about another monster down and praises his new weapon and even jokes about how he and the vampire, Benny, built a fire and roasted what looked like a squrriel over the flames. _Squrriels with fangs, like little vampires. It damn near bit off my finger, too._

He hears more about Benny, how he took down another vampire with a clean slice to the neck, how he taught Dean about new plants to avoid, how he hums a little song Dean can’t get out of his head about during his watch. Sometimes he drifts off while recounting his adventures. Is Dean sleeping? Does he _trust_ the vampire?

Castiel remembers the first nights in Purgatory, how Dean point-blank refused to sleep. _What if something gets to you before I wake up? You said the monsters are more dangerous here._ It took long arguments and a small tussle to get Dean to relent. _You better wake me up at the first sign of trouble, Cas._

The nights were chilly. For a few, there was a constant wind that shook the upper branches of the trees. Castiel didn’t feel it, but Dean often shivered and pulled his jacket closer around his body. When he woke up with Castiel’s coat tucked around him, he only nodded in thanks and handed it back without another word. Sometimes he wore it when the winds scattered leaves and debris across the forest floor.

Castiel keeps walking, following the river. He wonders if Dean is cold.

In his mind, he sees Dean, curled up like an infant in the dark. He remembers saying _I always come when you call._

He never does, and it takes everything in him to turn his back in the opposite direction of Dean’s pleas.

* * *

Castiel watches Dean. It’s not that cold, but he’s shuddering violently. Dean is also mouthing words, face tightening in pain. Castiel lays two fingers on Dean’s forehead. He’s promised Dean long ago that he wouldn’t read his mind, but he feels remnants of panic and fear seeping through. He wishes he can give Dean more pleasant dreams, but he feels as if he has nothing left. Weary from fighting creatures with tongues like snakes and faces twisted with twelve rows of teeth, Castiel feels exhausted. He looks at the vampire, who’s banking the fire, and Castiel shrugs off what’s left of his tattered coat.

Dean mutters something, but tucks his legs underneath the garment and buries his face in the folds, jaw now slack. “Cas,” he murmurs.

The vampire— _Benny,_ he reminds himself, because Dean insists on calling him by name—crosses his arms when Castiel looks his way. “He was looking all over for you.”

Castiel turns so that he doesn’t have to look at him. “I know.”

Benny rolls his eyes and glances over at Dean’s sleeping form. “Dean’s forgiven you easily, and I don’t understand it.” He tosses a twig into the flames. “You left him.”

Folding his legs underneath him, Castiel tips his head back against another tree. “I won’t again.” There’s a pang as he says the lie, coupled with protectiveness when Dean kicks at the ground, then relaxes, mouth forming silent words. He can’t see the faint freckles across his nose. There’s so much dirt and blood caked on his face.

"You better not." Benny shrugs, as if he couldn’t care any other way, but he unmistakably glances over at Dean, then the woods. "He was real torn up about it."

Castiel closes his eyes. It will be harder to leave this time, but he must.


End file.
